Say Something
by Rose of Brisingr
Summary: Little AU: Since Metatron's destruction Lucifer and Sam have an intimate, regulated relationship. Everything goes well until Sam suddenly begins to disappear for several days and then wraps himself in total silence. Lucifer on the other hand is worrying and suspicious, he hates this behaviour because he can't stand it when someone ignores him. He finds out that Sam cheats on him...
1. Chapter 1

_Lucifer,_

_I have decided to move out and to go back to the bunker._  
_For our relationship, or whatever name you've ever given our federal government, is dangerously close to the abyss, I want to bring distance between us as soon as possible._

_This is not only mine, but also for your own good. I do not want to risk hurting you again in such a way, as I do, or how I've done it for weeks.  
Therefore I beg you to accomplish this separation in peace and accept it.  
I would like you to be not at home when I come to pack up my things. Go for a walk or to a cafe, torch a little voodoo doll with my face on it, just do what you have in mind - as you have always done, since I know you.  
The maximum of two hours in absence should be enough._

_Farewell,  
Sam  
_

* * *

It was as if time stood still.

Mouth pressed into a thin line Lucifer stared in bewilderment at the snow-white sheet of paper in his hand.  
The writing had been brought into existence with aqueous ink pen and blurred accordingly productive, as he let go of his thumb as if hypnotized several times over the Farewell. The large curved L stretched out in a dirty black brook over the smooth surface, sucking firmly and ended in ash-gray spots. The rest of the greeting drowned itself in a private lake of ink blood and as Lucifer finally had the kindness to take away his finger from the - now very wrinkled - document, his thumb was as dark as the bitter hot pitch, which once hung on his wings in hell when he was cast down from heaven.

Horribly formal.

That was the only judgment which Lucifer attached to this letter.

It was horrible and formal - therefore terribly formal. It sounded more like an outrageously expensive bill from an unpopular tax advisor, not like a farewell letter, which ended a relationship of two people who should never be separated actually. But Sam wanted it that way.  
And Sam had done it, they had devided within these words. Snip-snap. Snip-snap. Just like that.  
For the first time in ages Lucifer's heart felt as if it would be shredded by a mower into microscopic pieces. Otherwise the remaining ingredients and limbs of his human shell (of which he even forgot sometimes that it was not actually his body - The custom just shaped him) seemed strangely numb suddenly.

He knew many kinds of torment and suffering, some he even invented and designed himself, thousands more to improve - but these goddamn numbness was new to him, but no less painful, as he clearly understood with every passing second.  
Mute Lucifer turned his head, looked at the reddish golden spots which loomed by the incident sunlight on the parquet floor. The sun would go down soon and befall the evening.  
_Two hours_ Sam had written. Two hours away from home at the behest of a seemingly bygone lover - what did this man imagine at all? To make such demands? What gave him the right to act this way?  
Lucifer was fully aware that Sam had intentionally threaded so that he could give no argument. For argument he would have given, oh, he would have brought to the volume of his screams the window panes to collapse. But Sam was too clever for such a scenario. He knew him too well so as not to have at least acquired a little foreknowledge.

Sam could be incredibly cunning, if he wanted. And brave. And to go up the wall. And stubborn. And sensitive. And passionate. And adorable.  
And ... well, Sam.

Lucifer took a deep breath, feeling the oxygen crawling into his throat and reaching the human lungs.  
Actually, he did not have to breathe. After all, he was an angel - an archangel. But during the time period that he spent primarily on earth (thanks to Sam), he recognized that this breathing while fulfilling no particular purpose, but somehow it looked comforting, the more you did it yourself or heard it from others. A little regain of control. In most cases, anyway.  
Therefore, he had also become accustomed to it, while he listened to the breathing of Sam's naps at night. The steady, peaceful rhythm swelled in his ears to a tune, compacted to a symphony soon and as Lucifer had whether notes nor instruments (nor the desire to learn an instrument) he had played that melody constantly in his head off and back again. It was a song with no voice and no sound he knew before.

Lucifer called it simply **Sam** and he kept this music like a treasure inside him, cataloged it in one of the chrome painted drawer compartments that piled up there, where else would have been his soul.

For the silent hours he had once hummed it quietly to himself and forgot about it shortly after.  
Now he remembered. And, God, he never thought that memories could be so agonizing. But they were there. They trembled like liquid fire in his borrowed veins and perhaps he would have welcomed it at this moment to be burned alive. Perhaps it would have reduced the gravity of his bones or exempt him from the sudden fatigue that now rolled over him like a landslide.  
He knew this particular fatigue already and that was why he hated it even more to have to feel it just now again, after eons of years.

The disappointment. The anger. The hate. The mourning. The suffering... that feeling when the organs were individually lifted up with a butter knife from the meat.

Blankly, he watched as the sun slowly faded on the smooth sanded wood, watched as the darkness collection held in the world in this apartment and into his heart (though he did not quite know whether it had ever been there bright scars and if angels could ever have a heart).

_Two hours_.

So that was it.  
Two hours and Sam Winchester would be gone from his life. Finally.  
And why? Because he loved his little brother more than him.  
Gabriel, the Trickster. Gabriel, the Casanova. Gabriel, the one with the big grin and protruding ears and the cheeky glint in his caramel eyes. Lucifer had never understood why his brother was so fond of sweets and why sugar was like a drug to him. Now it was clear to him that Gabriel is not merely limited in the area of sweets on cake, licorice and candy canes. He had also explored an addictive taste for Sam... and Sam himself seemed to have given himself away with joy and desire.  
All this hurt Lucifer only more, but he could not stop. He could not stop thinking about it.

_The maximum of two hours in absence should be enough_

_Farewell,  
Sam_

Farewell. Snip-snap.

Lucifer swallowed.  
But how could he live this life without Sam teaching him? Without telling him all these little, unimportant secrets of everyday life that created human cooperation? That helped him to keep the conversation and prevented him from making a fool out of himself or to be marked as a mental patient? He was not like Gabriel, who had chosen the earth as his personal playground for centuries. Down in the cage he never had to deal with the life of the 'naked apes' nor did he want to do. Now the cage was just one of those nightmares he dreamed awake and the sky was an absolute no-go area for him. This only left him to stay at the golden mean. And with what was lingering in the shadows, of course.  
Lucifer had still problems to socialize with people and to what kind of environment it was necessary to adapt. When Sam was with him, everything else was almost easy. It was secure and peaceful.  
But without him ...

Lucifer made a decision.

Step by step he staggered down the hall, grabbed a chair from the kitchen table and leaned it against the wall. Sighing, he let himself decline thereafter to the thin seat cushion, resting his forearms on his knees. He fixed his eyes on the oak door and waited for Sam to arrive. He would not go. He would not leave the battlefield without a fight. His pride, the smoldering anger and the cursed, hateful love he still felt for his former shell forbade him to do so.  
Sam should face him and say what he had tried to hide between the lines of this ridiculous letter.  
He should be honest with him – that was all he demanded. The truth. He had never asked more from him.

And he waited.

Waited ... for Sam. His Sammy.

And suddenly the time melted away again like sparkling spring water in a marshy pond.

Because Lucifer knew how to wait. The cage had taught him so.

* * *

Hello :)

I hope you liked the first chapter^^ Want to read some more?

Please, rate and comment :)


	2. Chapter 2

Hello, dear readers :)

Thank you for 1 review and 1 fave.  
Here is the second part of the short story.

In addition, you will meet Sam in first-person perspective and in the present tense, too.

Here is the link to that song-cover that I had in the ears while writing :  watch?v=0dYlvdLdK9w

Have Fun with Reading:

* * *

He is here.

It's just a feeling - but my feelings rarely mistaken. And this feeling tells me that he is here, here in this house. At home.

I am faced with the facade of the house, Lucifer and I bought about four months and 13 days ago and push my hands into my pockets. The demons and ghosts seem to fear to show themselves lately - at least they show up less and less, so I have finally decided to build me a… nest, as Bobby would have said. While it is frankly a miserable nest, no ostentatious villa and certainly not a governmental palace for the uncrowned king of Hell, but Lucifer has quite a bit of sheared to the interior - His only question acted upon where the bedroom was and if the bed would be big enough for two people. (It was not, so I went into a furniture store to order a suitable double bed)  
Other customs, other priorities, I would think ... angels are not necessarily straightforward creatures. And Archangels may be a lot worse.

A reddish line of bloody glow fringes the horizon and devours the last piece of the solar disk for the following night. Only after a dull pain penetrates my jaw, I realize how firmly I actually bite my teeth. I should have come here tomorrow. Tomorrow, in the early afternoon, at best. I have never feared darkness - only what lurked in it. And Lucifer is not a demon, not a monster under my bed but damn, it's never a good idea to meet him when the moon moves across his skin and his features carve softer. This is a diabolical (in the truest sense of the word), temptation and I'm an idiot, that I even put myself into the lion's den voluntarily. A lion, whose claws shine sharper in the shadows and grab me anytime they want. To unpack me and tear apart ... I swallow hard. No. No, I cannot turn back now. I said to Gabriel that I would end this charade for once and for all and by God, I'll do it. I'll really do. It has to stop. This, us - whatever it was.

When Metatron was too powerful, and we knew no way out, it had started. When Dean mutated into a demon and Castiel almost lost his angelic mind in despair and suddenly I was all alone. At that time ... I was out of my mind. And I broke seals. 66 seals. For I was burned out and no other solution than suicide was left (before our enemies finished their job to kill us). I thought it could not get any worse, so I fulfilled the tasks, drew the intricate pentagram in blood, herbs and guts on hallowed ground. I even prayed.

Then ... he was here. In our world. I can still remember exactly how he stood there that day. As he picked flakes of ash from his shoulders without taking his eyes off of me, how he almost seemed hypnotized by my face and the expression of relief and terror I presented him. I remember the puny flame stove flickering on the lapel of his right pants leg, and he ? He did not care at all. He had forgotten how it was to feel pain from burning. And of course, I also remember Michael. Michael, who was standing a few meters away from Lucifer, an arm wrapped around Adam's waist supportively, who was barely able to stand on his own legs. In contrast to the archangels his body was a seriously battered wreck and Michael was the only thing standing between him and the smooth sanded hardwood. They clung so close together ... sometimes I still think about how much that irritated me, even though my thoughts should have been concerned about a much larger problem at this time. But I did not understand it easily. I did not understand at all...  
But when I inevitably met Lucifer's cold gaze anew, a tiny spark of knowledge sprouted in my heart like a seed that lies under two meters of dry earth and is finally allowed to feed on a drop of water.

And I swear, I have never felt so scared in my life as in that fateful moment.

And now when I go through that door, when I enter this house and if I want to go to my room and he leans against the wall, watching me from the shadows with these cursed eyes of ice, which melt like magma into my soul - what then? Yes, what will happen then?  
I have beaten him. Right in the face. I heard the crack of a cheekbone, which is not his, because angels have no cheekbones. They are light. They are made of glistening light and I have poured a strong dash of red in this light. Well, he, who is without sin cast the first stone.  
But what if ... he wants to kill me? Not only because of the slap in his face, but also because of ... Gabriel? He is quite capable of such action, has always been - but he has never done it. He never hurt me, not physically. No matter how many times we argued in this half year, he already spends on earth. And heaven knows how many times we argued. Many, many times, sometimes about trivial things, and sometimes about things that cut deeper into the meat than usual. But we have always tolerated each other again, in one way or another. Sure, we fought, most likely even more with ourselves than each other. Tried to defeat our pride to and it often held the balance, who went to whom after hours of fruitless silence saying a flippant comment so that we learned to talk again. Well, it has never been set right constantly between Lucifer and me anyway.

But just as now, it was never before. And that's my fault. Yes, I admit it - it's all my fault. Everything. (How could it be otherwise?)

Taking a deep breath, I step a few steps closer to the house. My heart is pounding in the leather ceiling of my chest and goosebumps are chasing each other on the skin of my forearms. Mild dizziness nestles tenderly to my senses, but I've known it a long time ago and I know it is the nervousness that speaks to me. And the fear. A unnamable, cold, clammy fear that affects my whole body like a vice. For months I have not felt so weak. Is this for the idea of what I intended to do? Or is it that doubt which still gnaws in my mind quitely whether this is all correct or not?  
My saliva trickles like glue in my throat when I swallow. I don't know. But I know that there is no going back if I walk through that door. When I am in this house, packing my last belongings and wandering through the corridors that have become so terribly familiar to me within these few weeks, it's over. I'll never be able to look at Lucifer again. The guilt in his eyes would kill me in an instant.

¨ This will end bad. ¨ Gabriel had told me when I left. He held his arms crossed and his usually mischievous grin was replaced with a raised eyebrow and a pair of lips vanished into difficulties. These lips taste like chocolate and spray cream when I kiss them.  
He looked rather anxious, which is not his usual style of mood.  
¨ Eventually you have to stop. ¨ I then told him soothingly, trying to spread my mouth with a smile. I do not think he believed in my enthusiasm. Perhaps that was why the hug he conducted me in before I left, so strangely determined and persistent. So .. desperate. As if he thought I would not return to him, which is a ridiculous assumption. After all, I'm not cheating on anyone for no reason. And Gabriel is and remains the only reason that has been worth all this fraud. That's not an excuse, not even a justification. It's just an observation. A bitter-sweet conclusion.

Each stair creaks _Welcom_e under my shoes and, as it almost seems like a crunching chorus to me rising with complaints and biting in my soles. Not to mention I'm walking faster. The sky is bathed in purple velvet, while I dig out the key from my pocket and insert into the lock. The harsh sound, as the bolt is snapping back and the door pushes open wildly, jumps in my ears like electric waves.  
_Calm down, Sam._ I mutter to myself in thought insistently, _Go in. Pack your bags. Get out._ Just ignore him. IGNORE him.  
I almost laugh hysterically at my own, half-way reasonable sounding voice while I push myself with sweaty hands and bile on my tongue in the interior of the building.

Sure - as if it had ever been easy to ignore Lucifer.

Of course he is here.

Although he is not draped against the wall, as I suspected, he has leaned a chair against it and sits. The arms are crossed over his chest in a waiting manner. Our eyes cross before I venture three steps into the house.

My heart feels as if it is about to burst. It is an oppressive feeling. But at least it loosens my tongue (well, otherwise I would have probably swallowed it ... No, that was not a joke).

¨ Weren't you supposed to... did you get the letter? ¨ I ask miserably and in the same second I scold myself for this incredibly stupid question. A delicate panning my gaze on the kitchen table and I see clouds of white paper shimmer in the dark complexion of the evening. It is hopelessly wrinkled and if I am not mistaken, torn into jagged lines at the edges. Oh great. There could be no better mirror of how Lucifer has received the written message emotionally.  
Heh, why gives me this insight then just no real joy ... oh sarcasm, you even accompanied me through hell, why not here as well?

He looks at me. Does not move. Does not breathing. Has probably forget to breathe. If instinct would not have driven me, I probably had forgotten it, too.

¨ I said the maximum would be two hours ... ¨ I say, but break off, because I hear myself how ridiculous that sounds.

Another silence. Deadly flavored silence. Silent as a graveyard. My body shivers, though its's early June.  
I feel a slight hint of trouble. A sign of defiance that has brought me into trouble far too often. The defiance, who advised me to turn my back on Dad and Dean getting hold of a scholarship for a high recommended college. It has become my old friend, this defiance. And my oldest enemy, too. It's funny that the circle seems to repeat.

It has been almost ten years when I strangled the eternal dispute with my father and stepped out into a cool october night, a bag with a few belongings weighing on my waste, praised with the ability to crack foreign cars. I left without looking back again. I went into an uncertain distance and I did not care. I had no fear of the future, had forgotten that loneliness existed and that it would haunt me more often than planned. It only found an end when I saw Jess' beautiful face. I was happy at that time. Just happy ... and now? What about now? Will I be happy after I finally leave this house? Will I also feel so outrageous? As if I could embrace the world?  
... I dont know. But I'll find out soon enough.  
And hey, at least I do not regret anything. I… at least I think so.  
I think it's just frightening, when some things from past and present require to move towards each other. Is this normal? I don't know…

¨ Aren't you going to say anything? ¨ I grab eventually, because I hate to play games with Lucifer. I admit that my voice drops kind of helpless at the end, but that is irrelevant.

Oh, a breakthrough. Lucifer moves. Leisurely he rises from the chair, thumbs hooked in the waistband of his jeans. Although he leans his head to the side demonstratively his attitude is bent in my direction dominantly. Dead light of sun, bedded to rest shines in the pale dust on his olive-green shirt. The sea blue fabric of his trousers is rumpled in several places, but not torn. The dark blonde hair stretches out in all directions, a few fringes show up vertically to the ceiling. It is a well-known image. I never thought that this sight would give me this type of suffering one day. But of course you also do not think about car accidents or plane crashes or earthquakes or rape before they occur. Why should you? Why penetrating oneself with gruesome horror scenarios when there is love and joy and satisfaction, where you can feed on? Why wasting your attention on ugly illusions, when reality is so much more beautiful?  
I think I've made my own reality broken. More than once. And me with it.

¨ Lucifer? Lucifer, isn't there anything you want to say? ¨

I sound awfully whiny. Maybe because really feel terribly whiny now and I have no appreciable desire to conceal this state. Who has ever said you had to mimic the strong man in a breakup? Who made the rule that cheaters should not be the first to shed a few tears?  
Although the part with the tears still remains hidden in my eyes, but I do not know if I can get through this urge forever. Or the next two hours, in which Lucifer roams through the rooms. within reach. Like a black panther on the prowl. And I am the carrion that he will spurn on his way. Then I am not more than spoiled, rotten meat.

Lucifer takes his time until he turns his head vaguely to me again. One half of his face is hidden, so I can not see the look in his eyes in the darkness.

¨ No. ¨ he says, it's just a word, a measly syllable, but it is hidden behind a pulse. A dull, dull, hissing grief. ¨ You have made me ... speechless. ¨.

PENG. Directly into the stomach. My heart flutteres in the speed of hummingbird wings, leaching into my knees. I almost succumb to the need to hold my chest like an old, senile man who suffers a heart attack - at the last moment I can stop me. My hands remain close to my hips. Free and limp and disoriented.

Lucifer seems to have said everything he wanted to say, because he wraps himself in silence and fixing a vague point on the ground. It is this newly-found hobby that leaves me almost stoic. I drop my shoulders. Breathe deeply. My lung burns like Egyptian desert sand.

¨ I ... am going to go to my room and pack then. ¨ I mutter. Perhaps the rate of Lucifer was determined, perhaps for myself, I do not know it myself completely.

Anyway, it gives me the metaphorical kick in the butt that drags me through the living room and up the stairs on the first floor. The following procedure is a matter of habit. I have always stored a particularly large bag under the bed to get away in the midst of the darkest night in case of emergency. To take the most important things with me, if an attack or similar chaos announces. I grew up with this behaviour, no wonder that it has become second nature to me in flesh and bone. I almost feel like a little boy again, opening the closets and stashing shirts, pants, various personal treasures in, the usual stuff. Only there is a formative difference - 20 years ago I found it much easier to dispel my room and relocate together with my brother and my father in foreign climes. It took me almost 30 minutes to complete. I already had to learn at an early age, not to lose my heart too much on my ever-changing environment. Now, in the presence this act is much more difficult and it takes much longer. Each shirt plops with the weight of an iron bar in my pocket, and when I remove my toothbrush out of the bathroom I actually feel like crying. By that I mean no male howling, but_ real_ howling. Howling, while curved in a corner and the body is shaken by the crown to toe. Howling with agonizing pleasure, with joy, with grein the volume, intensity. The type of howl that seems almost brutal, vulgar because of its licentiousness.

There are no tears. Just a dry cough sobbing. My flooded eyes fall randomly on my reflection and I feel like screaming I HATE YOU! in this face that belongs to me and is dug by furrows of shame and exhaustion. Had I possessed the guts, I would have smashed the reflecting surface with my fist. How it's done in those film dramas usually, right? In slow motion and with a background music that puts ice chips under the viewers' skin. But this is not a movie you can simply switch off if the action is too lengthy or obtrusive. This is **my** life. My messed up, miserable, monstrous life. And below, barely one floor away stands a messed up, miserable, monstrous archangel who laid his non-existent heart to my feet and pushed me against the wall when I tried to give it back to him. He accepted no **No**. He never did. Until today. Until today ...

Why? Why doesn't he defend himself? Why doesn't he freak out, turns into a male fury! Why ... why is he suddenly so tame and disgustingly result? Did he just sort of come to terms with my loss? Am I not worth enough to bring the house to collapse in anger? He accepts my decision without protest? That has never been before.

I sound very paradoxical, even for my standards. I mean, what normal thinking person who cheated in his partner expects him to show a little more outrage? Expects him to do **anything**?

Oh ... that is entirely his fault. I have written him to disappear for a maximum of two hours,I told him to leave this house and let me organize my packing in peace. His presence makes me quite confused in the brain. Worse than any alcoholic brand that Dean has ever held to my nose. I really don't need migrain, but now it insists perking in my temples and even makes somersaults behind my skull.

You can tell me whatever you want - headaches **always** have a shitty timing.

I forget to look at the clock while I pack and when I'm done I fall from the clouds, as the pointer on the wall shows eight clock in the evening. A total of three hours have passed since my arrival. Fuck. 'Gabriel is going to kill me.' I think, however, I reject this theory again immediately. Gabriel is not resentful in this sense, but horribly curious. He will ask me holes in the stomach when I come back to the bunker. Perhaps he will also say nothing. I do not know which of these possibilities is the more tolerable one.

The bulging bag shouldered over my right arm I leave the first floor and stumble with cautious steps down the stairs, for safety's sake continuously clutching the fingertips of my left hand on the railing. However, the sky has turned out entirely black and the electric light, which blinks in the hallway and downstairs tells me that even Lucifer is blind in the dark.

I want to set foot on the last step, as I remain in the midst of movement. Wasn't there a little sound? A voice? Lucifer? I listen intently.

_... something, I'm giving up on you  
I'll be the one, if you want me to  
Anywhere, I would've followed you  
Say something, I'm giving up on you_

The bones in my legs are changing abruptly to jelly and I do my best to support me on the wall. It is a small wonder that the very heavy bag gently glides to the ground without making great noise..

_And I am feeling so small_  
_It was over in my head_  
_I knew nothing at all_

_And I will stumble and fall_  
_I'm still learning to love_  
_Just starting to crawl_

My teeth pierce like thorns in my tongue, but I care surprisingly little about that. I know this song. I have it constantly humming to myself when we moved into this house. It was a few months ago, the Number One in 20 states and it ran in a loop on the radio. At first I hated it for some reason I couldn't name. But then, as it often happens with exactly the songs you can not stand, it became my earwig, an annoying, stubborn companion. And I started to like it. True, honest, uncompromising liking. I speak from experience when I say that such songs expect a possibly longer life on the iPod playlists than those you have heard in the elevator once and danced to it. This is probably due to psychological illness. We have fought against something that we do not even wanted to leave in our vicinity. But this thing has not given up, has hung on our skirts, and has pulled us by the hair until we had to give it some attention at last. And then, only then we started to love it. To defend it, when someone tired to threaten or insult it. It snuggled to our heart at night , stopped the trembling in our dreams. We assured it, mumbling about security which has become unspeakable rare in this world and that it can have confidence in us because we will never leave.  
And this hard won love is much stronger and more ductile than the usually frivolous version. Because we have struggled to accept it. Fought and lost. The admitting defeat here is the most important thing. The cruelest. The most beautiful.

_Say something, I'm giving up on you  
I'm sorry that I could not get to you_

Lucifer sings slowly, almost supporting. Melancholic yet tender. It reminds me of a monk chant in a gigantic cathedral, built with stone and mortar, sweat, blood and tears. His baritone is unmistakable, has a very unique tone. Warm and cool. Smooth and rough. Hard and then yielding in flowing finish again. A swirl. A storm. Chaos in its purest form.

¨ Sam, my heart breaks for you. ¨ he once said to me, that bastard. On that day, when we met face to face. ¨ My heart breaks for you. ¨

Now he breaks **my** heart. With a song. That's funny, somehow. I could probably laugh about it if I do not have just the punch line would be omitted.  
As in a trance I hangle myself along the corridor wall until I rest in the doorway of the kitchen, quiet as a mouse, and see how Lucifer is sitting at the dining table. Electric light radiates through the room and bathes the figure of the devil in a pale glow. His elbows are on the table and hands wedged firmly together. It almost seems as if he would pray but this is… well, for too unrealistic, I guess.

_Anywhere, I would have followed you  
Say something, I'm giving up on –_

He breaks off demonstratively when he notices my presence. For reasons that I cannot name, that I WILL NOT name because they are too sad, I take up the thread of the song with a self-evidence that even shockes myself.

_And I will swallow my pride  
You're the one that I love  
And I'm saying goodbye_

The verses crumble as decrepit mortar from my lips. I'm not a great singer. I never was. I'm talentless. But it is enough for the shower. And for Lucifer. Lucifer has always wanted, what I have given him. After the Apocalypse had failed, he just wanted me to compensate. And he got me. All of me. Every inch.  
But nothing is meant to last forever. And what has previously been sufficient all the time, will soon no longer be enough.  
I stand on short legs, waiting for that Lucifer takes the next part of the song.  
Actually, now t the refrain takes place. With fervor. With tearful finale. Only he can sing it that way that blurs my vision. Only he can bring me to tears with his voice and at the same moment to laugh.

But he does not. He prevents to sing again. Not for me. His pride forbides it.

¨ I'm sorry. ¨

The excuse flies like a fired grenade out of my throat, but the explosion does not occur.

Lucifer snorts, rigorously avoids eye contact.

¨ You don't need to lie, Sam. I'm used to be betrayed from those who I love. ¨

I reply nothing to it. What shall I answer? His words involve a finality, which I do not want to compare myself and can. Nevertheless, of course it hurts. Unbearable pain. If I could only tell him why. If I could tell him the truth, then ... no. He would not understand the truth. Would accuse me to use it only as a loophole to escape him.

... I hate myself.

My unsteady glance rushes aimlessly around the room, stays at the kitchen table hanging. There is a plate. Fork and knife are thoughtlessly thrown into the middle of the smooth porcelain. I would never have bought a fine china service myself, as I know only too well how easy it could break in Lucifer's presence. It belonged to the previous owners, a retired couple. They had no children and apparently no friends to whom they wanted to inherit it, so it was kept it in the house like all the other items which once counted to their belongings. Just as it seemed the native spouses had been sleeping in separate single beds later. The master bedroom was on the first floor, the other actually had to fulfill the purpose of a guest room and rested in a far corner of the ground floor. The realtor told me, they had grown apart, but couldn't bear the thought of spending the rest of their miserable existence in solitude, which is why they decided to interact as two lodgers same apartment community despite their eternal dispute. How they were able to continue this for years, the man knew as little as I do. He had known them well, he told me just before he batted with the house keys in front of my nose. They would have been good people. Sincere people. Nice people. Sad people. Dependent people.  
Depending on their own fear. Co-dependent.

Had I been thinking at that moment about if Lucifer and I would ever face the same fate? No, of course not. I was, as it would be put in today's youth, stepping on cloud Nine and the rest didn't really matter to me. The name Winchester implies the birthright to have all sorts of worries and risks. Till the end of my life I'll always consider a half-full glass as half empty but you know what? I was happy at that time. Really, truly happy. I know I've said this before but I can not say this enough, because it still sounds so abstrusely amazing in my own ears. As a dream, soaked in opium.  
Lucifer had clearly explained to me a few weeks ago, what bloody (very detailed described) consequences those ones would have to bear, who tried to lay a finger on me. And how he'd hung them on their feet, when they touched my ass (because he is convinced that it would be his all alone prerogative), and, and ... It was not the Lucifer, who drove me almost to madness in my infernal illusions, the one who had badgered me to the utmost. It was the only _real_ Lucifer, who spoke to me. And maybe I just needed _this_ fact to kiss him ultimately when he wanted to me convince what benefits I would get while having **him**, a Son of God, as my beloved partner. Put it this way ... he had not to be asked long to return the kiss.

Now, in the present, hearing my story is probably pretty ridiculous and blameless. But I have no need to twist these facts nor to belittle in any way (if you Satan can trivialize anything, what should be grotesque enough). It was exactly like that. Towards the end. Before, Lucifer and I were like two suspicious panthers sneaking around each other, hissing out in extended warning.

Then, one evening, I was sitting hunched in the library of the bunker studying a book when Lucifer stepped through the door and complained about boredom. He was childlike, grouching. The fact that this boredom had reached a new record showed me his striking interest in my reading (and me, personally).

As chance would have it, I read Faust. Lucifer _loved_ Faust. Idolatrous.

Approximately three hours I discussed with him about Mephisto, even soon fell into a rage until Dean yelled at us from the next room, we should at last get a mattress and a tube of Vaseline looking to relieve frustration. Lucifer has not understood the reference (thanks to heaven!) and I had to hide my crimson stained cheeks behind printed paper and leather binding quickly.  
I guess then it started… correctly. And _what_ started? This _us_. The Lucifer _with_ me. This connection which had existed before the cage and did not shake off.

It clung to me and it still clings, shakes in my flesh and my mind. It's like a blood curse. One can perform a phlebotomy every day until you fall into a swoon, but a cure will never help. It can only be weaken. Drained. Starved down to the bare skeleton of my soul.

Perhaps this uncomfortable conclusion is now one of the reasons that I am drawn to this dirty plates, cutlery dipped in butter. It dates back from the breakfast I have eaten almost two days ago. Breadcrumbs and redberry drops sprinkle the porcelain floor like brush strokes a blank easel. Lucifer has not touched anything. Not surprising. As he eats no food, he vehemently refuses to comprehend the purpose of dishwashing. No problem for me, after all I am the only one in this house with a working metabolism ... well, I _was_ the only one.

Accordingly, it is purely routine. The bag, parked in the hallway, provisionally shoehornes into a rear corner of my memory, I head straight to the table and collect the dishes with disciplined self-evidence and want to contribute them the sink. (My hands are shaking a bit, but that does not matter...)  
But the devil is in the detail, right? And if I do not pay attention to this detail I will be damned, for it is the devil, I am looking for to banish from my life.

¨ You don't have to do that. ¨

His baritone is a ball, poking through my ribs.

¨ I want it, though. You're an angel and angels do not eat. I'll do the last dish-washing. ¨ I say more harsh than I tried to but what is out, is out. The last dish-washing ... God, how that cuts into my flesh. Like a poker in a jellyfish.

Lucifer raises an eyebrow. Then a smile spreads across his face. It is a cold smile. A bitter smile. A fake smile.

¨ Your parting gift is clean dishes. ¨ he says in an indefinable tone and with him it sounds more like a statement than a question, ¨ That will not change anything. ¨ This set in turn acts almost patronizing.

And I want to scream. Inwardly, I do that too. With wonderfully grotesque extendability.

¨ I know. ¨ I say instead.

Similar to a waiter carrying a silver tray with wine glasses and sovereign, I balance the thin load on my hands, mechanically going to the sink. There are three, four meters that separate me from there. Five, at most. A way that has never appeared so long to me, and yes, I know how stupid that sounds. It **is** stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Step by step, breath by breath.  
Only a few centimeters left, then the dishes land in the sink and when I'm done with them, I'll go. Go. Lucifer's eyes are like hot coals burning in my back. Those damn eyes.

Knife and fork clattering to the rhythm of my heart beat.

I'm already so close to the goal that I only need to stretch out my arm to touch the silvery gray kitchenette and -  
Then I stumble over my own feet.  
Why? I dont know.  
What do I care? Nothing.  
Will the impact hurt? Yes. Definitely yes.  
A quieter sound, without assignment or function, formes my mouth into a lean "Oh". The soil is racing to me with inexorable speed, prevents the dishes in my hands, that I rely on the poor and the milder effects of the fall.

I can still hear Lucifer calling out my name. It doesn't even sound that angry anymore.

¨Sam? ¨

Then the clang of shattering porcelain is the only sound that roars in my ears.

* * *

Hello again :)

Any comments? I'd love to hear/read your thoughts !


	3. Chapter 3

¨ Fuck! ¨

With apathetic blinking eyes I stare at the pile of rubble that once had the shape of a plate. The beautiful porcelain ... splintered into a thousand pieces. Just like that.

Yielding a reflex I kneel down, collect the coarsest body with my bare hands. The fact that the sleeve of my shirt is ripped in several places, I ignore. The splinters have been scattered in an impressive radius on the ground and it reminds me vaguely of the time in which I had taken a fancy to the puzzle ... only with the difference that the pieces were never as sharp as these pieces of broken china and I cannot remember to have ever wet a puzzle with my blood.  
My fingers tremble incessantly, as if I were suffering from arthritis. Who knows, maybe I do - maybe I suffer from emotional arthritis. My palms pound like a second heart, but the realising pain is strangely muffled. My brain still seems to be paralyzed by the shock.  
Is this good for me? We will see to that.

And suddenly there's another pair of hands, which embrace mine discouraging the continuation of my insane work. I do not trust to look up because I cannot meet his gaze.  
Not now. I'm not able to. I'm ashamed. I'm such an idiot. _Idiot Idiot Idiot_.

I destroy everything. Everything. (At least this I have in common with Satan.)

¨ I - I tripped. Sorry. ¨ me gushing it too hastily out of my mouth, because I want to say something, say anything.  
However, it only has the consequence that I feel even more miserable, if that's even possible. After endless back and forth I decide to risk a quick eye contact and lift my head gently. Lucifer's sea eyes remain solely on my hands what could be my luck, maybe my bad luck too.  
He does not answer me. Growls instead like an animal as he examines my palm on interfaces. He fear the face when he sees that the lined meat is almost completely studded with glass slivers.

Whether he will scold in Enochian again? He does that often, if something annoys him and he does not want me to know what it is.  
But today is nothing, absolutely nothing, as usual, which is why Lucifer instead of falling into his heavenly gibberish, compresses his lips to a barely visible line and pushes the air out of his nose in a single, powerful thrust.

¨ Crap. Have you always been o clumsy? ¨ he rumbles and he somehow it is a strikingly helpless remark.

I shrug, not much else comes to mind.

¨ Sometimes. The last time such things have happened to me, I had a cursed rabbit's foot in my pocket. ¨ I say toneless, ¨ But you'd have can not do better judge? You once said you'd know me in and out. ¨

Lucifer sweeps almost reverently about my wounded flesh, as if he saw his future in it.

¨ I thought so, yes. ¨ he says with a nondescript voice, ¨ However, I seem to have been mistaken. The Sam that I thought to know would not leave me for my little brother. ¨

Ouch. Today definitely too many of his verbal punches end up pitting in my stomach.  
But I deserve this, right? I deserve any punishment, there is. Each one...

¨ Have I ever been the one you expected exactly? ¨

The question itself comes unexpectedly for me, though I am the one who utters it. It is a question that, my subconscious must have created some months ago, but only now it penetrates to the surface. At the worst time, of course.  
Lucifer tilts his head slightly to the side.

¨ What do you mean? ¨ he asks, without ever cherishing the intention to let go of my hands.  
Meanwhile, they burn like fire, and that's okay, because I'm used to fire. It has sleeping with me in the same bed for months and I loved it.

¨ You saw things in me which weren't there. Have created a mirage. ¨

Lucifer view hardens instantaneously after I roll the last letter of my tongue.

¨ We both know that's not true, Sam. You search for excuses. ¨

¨ And if I am? ¨ I reply to him in an involuntary, manic rage. "if I have no excuse that I choose Gabriel and not you?"

I resist the sake of a lump in my throat, which prevents me from breathing. I am a pathetic actor.

The devil thinks.

¨ Then I ask myself, why you had to make up your mind at all. ¨ he said. ¨ Be honest, have I done something that brought you in Gabriel's arms? ¨

This question almost tempts me to laugh or to make me cry. I could list a thousand reasons. Banal disagreements, trivia, great and small acts of the drama, which is called _relationship_. If I want, I should be able to find anything and everything for my justifications, it only takes a lot of imagination and an elephant memory.  
But I will not lie. Not too much.

¨ No. ¨ I lick my dry lips. ¨ No, you did nothing. ¨

Really not.

¨ Why then? What have I done to deserve this, Sam? ¨

I say nothing, remain in silence.  
After three minutes of this silence he snorts in impatience. Than a strange, scarred gloss flits in his eyesight.

¨ Have I ever told you why God cast me down? ¨

I swallow. My throat is parched.

¨ No. ¨ I whisper.

Though I know it just too well, because he has told me many times. Nevertheless, or perhaps because I say 'No'. It is somehow comforting to build on a subject with which one has worked to more peaceful times.

I see how Lucifer's chest rises and falls. As if there was a heart that is hammering in his chest with excitement. I want to lay my ear to it and listen to the rhythm but I can't.

¨ Because I loved him. I loved him too much. That was my mistake. ¨

¨ And have you learned from your mistake? ¨

I cannot stop the bitterness in my voice. Lucifer sighs. Sighs like a very, very old man, I notice on the edge.

¨ No. I still love you. Far too much. Therefore, it also does hurt as much. If I would let my nature run wild, I would lock you up here and have quartered Gabriel in an instant. ¨  
He closes his eyes, barely a second. Presumably he imagines these acts in figuratively.  
¨ But I can't. ¨ he confesses and under the gold-blond eyelashes deep blue slots blink to meet me, ¨ You would hate me for it. And I don't want you to hate me. I never wanted that ... why are you trying constantly to get me to hate you? Have you grown tired of me? ¨

With these words, he lowers his head and pulls a splinter out of my skin with his bare teeth.

A hissing sound escapes my mouth as the pain creeps up my arm like a feverish flash, at the same time an infinite relief overcomes me after the china falls clattering to the floor. Lucifer's lips are sprinkled with dry rivulets of my blood and shimmer in the electric light like ruby chains. He licks it away before he bends down deep and places reverently kisses on the wet cuts on my hands, any open wound covering with his smoking tongue.  
She is hot and wet and gives me shivers down the spine. Each of his touches alleviate my burning skin, make it a blunt, phantom-like wasting away. At this moment the gesture reminds me of Jesus washing his disciples' feet. Treating them with love, kindness and wisdom ... that they did not deserve. At least not one of them. Judas.  
But his grip is like stone and I am not able to squirm from it.

¨ Has he touched you, yes? ¨ it breathes against my wrist, where the blue veins stand out. Almost madly he presses his lips on my pulse, accelerating it rapidly. I feel dizzy. ¨ Did he seduced you with his charm? His unspeakable jokes? One of the tricks that I have taught him? Or did he just swallow your cock until you couldn't form sentences anymore? ¨

The mockery in his voice and the vulgar selected expression brings me back to the cold reality.

¨ Lucifer, stop. ¨ I command him and although my voice should be hard, I sound miserable. Pleadingly.

Fast Lucifer's head lifts up and his face is so damn close to mine I dare to breathe, hardly containing myself.

¨ Why should I quit? ¨ he hisses at me, a bouquet of hatred, rejection and tortured, naked envy supporting in his iris, ¨ **He** shall stop! He shall stop to take you away from me. ¨ His eyes thin out, a shade softer. ¨ And _you_ shall stop to give in to his desires. ¨ he adds softly, almost tenderly.

How could I ever consider that he would try to kill me?

¨ Lucifer ... I'm sorry. ¨

"He imposes himself even more closely in my direction, over the shards. A crunch accompanies his movements. My hands are completely healed.

¨ What? ¨ he asks. Our mouths almost stripe as he speaks. ¨ For what exactly **are** you sorry? ¨

I am searching for the right words, the right sets - cannot find them. To be true, I think for such things there exist no right words.

¨ This here, this situation -. I never wanted it to come to that.¨ I reply evasively.

Lucifer's pupils seem to impale me.

¨ Why? ¨

He sounds lurking. Had I been sitting on a chair at this time, I would probably have slipped nervously around it.

¨ Gabriel is ... different. ¨ I mean eventually. And different can mean anything.

¨ They all are. ¨ explains Lucifer promptly and is hardly convinced. ¨ He let Dean die before your eyes, Sam. In ten thousand variants! ¨

¨ He wanted to convince me of something irreparable. ¨ I admit. ¨ And you almost beat Dean to death. You wanted to break every bone in his body - with my own hands !¨

Lucifer's eyes turned angry, as if I would roll up a trifle over the past five years.  
¨ Do you still think of this, every time you see me? ¨ he says, and there is actually a hint of insult in his tone, ¨ How can you forgive Gabriel and be so unforgiving with me? Is it because I'm the devil? Is it that? ¨

Now he is really indignant. Furious. He believes that I prefer his brother because he's still an archangel in heaven.  
I look at him. Thoughtful. Maybe even a little scared (I do not know exactly, because there is no mirror in which I can look at myself).

¨ I'm not resentful. ¨ I answer him then and I have to pay close attention to the fact that my voice does not overturn. I don't need to lose control.  
But it's hard, it's damn hard.

¨ You're not? ¨

¨ No. ¨

¨ But I am. ¨

Our noses touch, key in succession. My lower lip jitters. Now I see the fire, the hell Lucifer has brought with him out of the cage blazes in his eyes.  
It's beautiful. Spookily beautiful. I'll never see it again, never again, never again -

¨ And if you actually think I would give you up so easily, then you were bitterly wrong. I lost everything I held dear once. That won't happen to me for a second time. I'd rather die than - ! ¨

¨ YES, THAT'S IT! ¨ it bursts out of me, sinking together like an inflatable doll. ¨ That's just it ... ¨ I repeat weakly.

Dead. _Dead_.

Then I suddenly break down into tears.

I cry, because Lucifer holds my aufgeritzten of splinters in his hands and our eyes meet while we sit on our knees. I cry, because I realize that this could be the last time that he ever touches me or talk to each other openly.  
I cry because the OVER is suddenly so tangible in the air, that I want to grab it by the throat and choke it. Choking, gagging, until it kicked the bucket and then I no longer have to decide to go because there is no OVER anymore because I killed OVER.

For a short time only my own, staccato sobs echo in the room, I'm sorry. I'm-sob-so-sniff-I'm so sorry- sometimes in between muttering. It is grueling, unfair, embarrassing and I want to fucking stop it, but I can not. I just can not ...

Lucifer is paralyzed.  
His cobalt eyes are like bright spotlight on me. In them, confusion and horror mix to an accusing sud. I am incredibly sick. The fact that an uncontrollable tremor has captured my body does not make it better, but worse. I'm so incurably sick ...

¨ Sam? ¨ I hear him ask, but somehow his voice seems far away, ¨ Hey, Sammy? Sammy? ¨  
His dominated baritone has given an abundance of insistent concern. A pinch of serious fear that dominates especially in the last _Sammy_.  
Nevertheless, it is and remains the voice that I love the most.  
The voice I hear in my sleep, looking in my dreams. The voice that calmed me in hell, while around us eternal flame stoves surged and chopped limbs crackling in the middle and the smell of death and decay was everywhere. This voice. God forgive me, but there is no other voice, no other man, no other angel whom I can love as your fallen son.

And ... that's why I have to finish it. Better too early than too late. Even if it kills me.

For what is worse than one's own suffering? To see the ones suffer you love the most.

I do not know how long he lets me cry. I do not know when exactly his arms cross around my neck and his hands come off, stroking my back. I do not even know when he starts to seal my lips with his.

But I know that it does not feel uncomfortable. I know the sweet smell of his breath, the collection of his mouth. The way he puts his whole, celestial-infernal existence in his touches. In his body, his hands, his kisses. His bloodlust. His love.

And these kisses are rough and wild and taste like fire, rage and sorrow, mixed with the salt of my tears. Unlike Gabriel. No comparison. One difference that separates dimensions from each other.  
I want to defend myself, want to push him away from me, but within the blink of an eye his fingers drive restlessly through my hair, pulling on individual strands, pressing me insurmountably to him. Possessively closer to the hot mouth, I've sworn never to kiss again a few days ago.  
But my oath definitely seems to be ignored by the devil, because before I can organize my thoughts, his forked tongue slides provocatively over my lips, bites with his teeth playfully into the soft cushion and at least now I realize that I have to get up immediately .  
If not, I'm lost for the night - in more than one way. Then all I have planned and done is for nothing.

¨ I-I have to go now. ¨ I gasp again as soon as he gives me oxygen and curse the stuttering at the beginning of my sentence.

Still trembling with every fiber I turn around without another word, get up and stumble drunkenly out of the kitchen, heading towards the exit. I feel Lucifer staring after me. His scorching gaze pins like sharpened needles in my back and I would probably fallen halfway (again), if I didn't support me instinctively with one hand on the wall. The fact that I have frequently supported me somewhere today, I just notice on the edge of my rotating consciousness, a file that is stuffed without delay into the appropriate drawer and slammed with pleasure.

I don't get far.  
Not because of Lucifer, who jappears behind me several moments later and clasps my wrist, but because of the dizziness that spills over my nerve endings with every second stronger rotating my perception in flashing circles.  
The metallic smell of blood on my hands claws in my nose. The world is a place of hiding darkness. The gloomy outlines of the hall. Shadows on the walls that make me laugh silently.  
Too much. It's too much ...

. ¨ Listen, you became weak ¨ I hear. ¨ That's okay, all - all men are weak when angels or demons appear on the scene. It is in their nature to succumb to the temptation. Eve and the forbidden fruit allowed your existence and that of your ancestors only - ¨

¨ - Temptation played no role in this. ¨ I groan in mental distance and now I can feel the bones in my legs are wax and how gravity cheats on me.

¨ What then? ¨ asks Lucifer. ¨ What then? ¨.

¨ I - ¨

I swallow the rest in a pained groan as migraine floods through my skull like a wrecking ball and my view is outshone by blinding bright light. Like a knocked out boxer who is hanging in the ropes, my body claps completely against the wall. The pastel wallpaper in the back I tumble down like a wet sack, the floor is suddenly like slush, cold and sticky and stubborn.

A second later Lucifer's face floats in front of mine. He says something, his lips move, confusion and fear share space in his eyes. But I am not able to appease him, to tell him that everything is alright and he must have no fear, because it's not. I'm not alright. My concern is not good. And I kept it hidden so well ...  
More and more of my surroundings atomize into tiny dots of red and black and other colors, for which there are no names, just horrified amazement.  
Damn it. _Damn damn damn_!  
The doctor warned me against such attacks, but he has not said that they would occur immediately after the first treatment. _Son of a bitch_, like Dean would have said. Yes, _son of a bitch_ ...

The last thought doing the rounds in my brain before I drifting into a saving, blissful unconsciousness, is regret. The regret, not having divulged what I wanted to avoid at all costs.  
The regret for not leaving earlier to spare him this spectacle.

And the simple regret, not to have told Lucifer the truth from the beginning.  
The **whole** truth.


	4. Chapter 4

Lucifer found it utterly humiliating pulling out a cell phone to contact his little brother.

To be true he **hated** it because he felt terrible human in such situations, it was uncomfortable to him typing any strictly prescribed sequence of numbers on this puny, digital box and listen to the monotonous hooting that overused his patience more than once.

But he had not plenty other ways to get in touch with Gabriel that fast. For about seven trillion years, his brothers and sisters had put on 'deaf ears' when Lucifer wanted to reach them through the angel radar. The experience of such ignorance was not to be shaken off so easily, especially not if you squatted several eternities in a cage and had plenty of time to think about it and get angry ...

Lucifer could barely suppress a delighted sigh, when the stop of tones meant that the call was accepted.

¨ Casa de Winchester – We'll kill what you fear! ¨ the cheerful voice of the youngest of all the Archangels echoed to the listener and Lucifer had to hold strong in itself, not to toss the phone abruptly into the next corner.  
Many unflattering expressions located in his (basically Nick's) brain, but he pulled himself together, so that none of them impounded his speech center.

¨ Hello, Gabe. ¨ he greeted with a sepulchral voice. He told himself not to scream constantly, which is why he sounded muffled.  
Immediately there was silence on the other end of the line. Awfully quietness.

¨ Hey, Lucy. ¨ it then came after a while, definitely quieter than at the beginning, somehow cautious. ¨ What is it? ¨.

Lucifer 's cut short fingernails clawed deeper into the plastic shell of the cordless phone.

¨ _What is it_? ¨ he repeated, and the sarcasm hovered formally in the air before his eyes, ¨ Oh, just the usual. The kitchen looks like hell, the postman is an asshole, Sam wants to leave me because of you and then collapsed - ¨

¨ He collapsed? ¨ it echoed clearly emotional from the mouthpiece.

The cold, disgusting mushy lump of jealousy slipped like a hissing snake in Lucifer's chest and curled through his veins. It took him a few seconds to get back to talk.

¨ Yes, he did. ¨

He began to tap a simple four-stroke rhythm with the knuckles of his right hand on the dresser, on which the telephone was enthroned.

¨ Would you please explain to me why he is suddenly so weak? He already stumbled in the kitchen once and then fell in the hallway. EXPLAIN. This. To. Me. ¨

Silence on the line. Not even the sound of breathing could be heard.  
_Sure,_Lucifer thought to himself_, angels do not have to breathe_.

¨ Listen, I don't care if you slept with him or if you're engaged you or if you plan to spend your honeymoon in Malibu plans. ¨ he said sternly (although he DID care, of course) ¨ What now counts for me is Sam. **Only**Sam, get it? I want to know what you hide from me, and why it's not good for him. Do YOU have something to do with his condition? ¨

Lucifer secretely swore to throw Gabriel into the Red Sea, tied to a rock including the size of the Statue of Liberty, if a 'yes' should follow after his last question.

But the answer was more different than the devil expected. His little brother ... laughed. Yes, he laughed, but his laugh came from none cheerful nature but of a melancholy variant. A sad, tired laugh.  
A rattling laugh.

¨ He has still not told you, right? ¨

Lucifer drew in a sharp breath. So there **was **something. Something that had made him hesitate. Something that totally did not fit to Sam's behaviour. Some truth behind all the lies. It relieved him almost - but ONLY almost.

¨ _What _didn't he tell me? ¨ he asked threatening.

He could almost feel Gabriel shaking his head and giving him a pitiful look. He heard him sigh.

¨ The doctors have warned him that such attacks could occur after the treatment. I told him he should take it slow, wait a few more days but you know our golden boy - He is very stubborn when it comes to such things.¨

Lucifer's hand that had tumbled to the four-stroke engine, switched to eight time.

¨ What are the doctors for? Why doctors? ¨

The phone crunched in his fingers as roasting chestnuts did over the fire.

¨ Okay, I will tell you, if you just promise me one thing ... ¨

Lucifer grinded his jaw.

¨ And what would that be? ¨ he asked suspiciously.

¨ Don't be angry with Sammy. ¨ Gabriel replied softly. ¨ He only wished the best for you. ¨

The devil snorted. However, the pretended noise could not ignore the fact that he felt uncomfortable.

¨ I could never be mad at him. Not for long.¨ he corrected harshly, leaning a little closer to the phone till his breath warmed the plastic. ¨ Now. Begin. ¨

And Gabriel began.

* * *

As I slowly get consciousness again after what felt like years I wish for exactly two things: a truck of paracetamol and a bucket in which I can vomit today's lunch.

Groaning, I blink through half-opened eyelids and wait until the dim image scraps connect to some sort of sharp surface, gain a clearer color fullness and my heart finds its way back from my carotid artery back into the chest.  
A sour taste is circulating on my tongue but I swallow it down the throat, inhale the stale air in the room like a parched vagabond a couple of life-giving drops born of cool spring water. Soon I see the mint green wallpaper with the thin-skinned foam clouds and the beech woodh shelves piled up to the right side while on the left a gigantic, distorted painting of a humorously copied Mona Lisa claims its place.

Below me, I feel a relatively soft mattress and the warm smell of peppermint and canopy. I am located in the guest room of the house, no doubt. The one room that was the refuge for the previous owner getting away from his wife at night. Maybe his ghost has brought me here…  
You think about strange things, if you previously believed and dreamed, the world would burst into pieces like an ugly piñata and instead of candy, illness and bloody entrails pour over your head. Very strange things ...

I do not need to turn around or stretch my view to the open door to know that Lucifer stands in its frame and looks at me like a hawk. His presence is like a blanket of flesh that wraps around my perception. How long does he probably stay there and watch me sleep in comatose?  
In space there is no clock, which I had the last few hours to read, but there is heaven as ever a single, black cloth stretched over the roofs of the world.

¨ I spoke with Gabriel and told him that you won't come back to the bunker today. You stay here, don't try to argue. ¨ he says and there is no hint of hostility found in Satan's baritone. No gloating, no satisfaction about my miserable condition. He does not know, but I'm very grateful about that.

Of course, I open my mouth nevertheless. He can't dictate me to stay here so easily - after all I'm a grown man, not twelve years old! I have rights!

¨ But - ¨

¨ Sam, you look really sick. ¨ he judges rudely. In his eyes glows a dangerous spark, like freshly-fied tar. ¨ Do you seriously believe I would take the risk and let you break down somewhere in the American Outlaw? ¨ he asks with a roaring undertone.

He could lift his hands on his hips and wear a cooking apron around his waist and he would have been the perfect cast of 'over-protective mother and housewife'. Irreverent to think this about an archangel, sure, but not an impossible scenario.

¨ Kansas is not the end of the world. ¨ I disagree laxly.

¨ But close. ¨ he says. A ridiculous argument. Stubborn, miserable.

¨ Not true. ¨ I protest and he twists his irritated eyes to the ceiling as if he was imploring the heavens for help.  
I can almost formulate his thoughts._Oh__please, _**_please_**_, Dad, why didn't you put some more brain mass in my 'Somehow-Ex-and-then -not-again' boyfriend? Dumb people are very arduous!  
_  
¨ You see? You whine. You always whine like a baby when you're not well. ¨ Lucifer doubtfully tilts his head. ¨ Or when you're drunk. ¨ he adds precariously, although he has rarely seen me drunk – I'm not Dean. In that case, Castiel could surely tell some more stories.

"Luc – "

He raises his hand flatly.

¨ No. ¨

And this time it sounds very determined.  
I sigh. Well, apparently I have no other choice anyway. Every muscle in my body feels as bricked in plaster, so an escape out of the windows will certainly not represent a viable option.  
Even though ...

¨ Don't you even dare to think about it. ¨ he growls at me strictly.

... Fuck. Sometimes I think Lucifer can still read my mind, if he wishes. I mumble unintelligible fragments of words. Then I decide that complaints are too strenuous and I remain silent in bed instead, Lucifer being a few feet away from me.  
If I were honest with myself, I'd love to lean at his side, my back to his chest, his hands on my temple, rubbing away this goddamn migraine until his fingertips rest in my hair, on my cheeks, my lips…But that would be a very scornful pleading, if I think back to the previous hours.  
My goal was - **is** to separate myself from him. On this day, before the midnight hour. I failed at this on my own and maybe I will not even make it tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow, or next week or next year.

This is not for Lucifer would force me to stay with him, he has said himself, he would like to stop me, but would be afraid of my hate - it is up to me. For I will not really Lucifer continued and I never wanted to. Not since I got to know him outside of the apocalypse. Not since I am aware that he embodies more than just the meaning of the fallen archangel or Mephisto or Beelzebub or as he is called otherwise - I understand him.  
His motives, his grief, his sadness over the exile and the loss of his family, the betrayal of his big brother... Nothing is completely evil or good in this world. Not angels, not demons, not humans. Even the devil has a heart to break.

It's a shame ... I guess if Satan would actually be just an incompetent, oversized asshole, it would not be that hard for me to hate him and throw out of my life...

Too bad, really.

¨ Do you still want me? ¨

The question is like oil and a single match is enough to bring it to ignite. But it's all the same anyway, right? There is no wrong or right anymore. No black or white. Everything is grey.

¨ Hm? ¨ makes Lucifer, but he has excellent ears. I swallow drily.

"I ask, because ... "

I close my eyes. What do I really have to lose? My pride? My manhood? No, none of that.  
I am free in one of the gloomiest kinds that are out there.

¨ Because I would not want me anymore, if I were you. I would flay me and shoot my aching body to the moon. ¨

I don't cheat. Each syllable corresponds to my earnest. To my surprise I hear Lucifer sigh instead of agreeing with me in euphoria.

¨ Oh Sam ... sometimes you're pretty stupid. You know that? ¨ he says, half-tenderly, half-honestly scolding.

¨ Yes. ¨

And that's not even a lie. I know it only too well.

¨ When did you want to tell me? ¨

¨ What? ¨

I pretend I had not heard him.

¨ When, Sam? ¨

I fix an indeterminate point on the ceiling. Maybe I'm lucky and can find a niche with a spider web, I can focus with attention.  
... Damn it. No spider web. Of course not. I blame my own mania for cleaning...

¨ No idea what you're talking about. ¨ I surmise, half aloud.  
Slowly I feel quiet uncomfortable in the stomach, and this time this is not about ordinary nausea ... rather the 'You are-caught-and-now-you are in the soup' nausea as any decent teen in his life has felt sometime.  
Lucifer is relentless.  
And I'm in a situation where I am not able to offer him a worthy stand up. Not good. NOT good.  
Where's the colt when you need it...

¨ For how long have you known it? ¨

Yet another question which I will not answer.

"Lucifer –"

¨ How. Fucking. Long. ¨

I resignedly sink back into the pillows.

¨ …For the past three weeks. ¨ I reply eventually.

So, it's out. At least half, or more. Ever since he has mentioned to have contacted Gabriel, I cherish the idea that he knows everything anyway.  
Unfortunately, Gabriel is an angel who can not shut his mouth - especially not when his big brother waving mental fists.

¨ Three weeks. ¨ Lucifer repeats in a treacherous calm voice and I push myself deeper into the mattress.  
I turn my face to him. He crosses his arms.  
¨ Three weeks in which you meet with Gabriel behind my back, being untraceable for several days. ¨ he speculates aloud, even casually. ¨ Strange coincidences there are, aren't they?¨.

Yes, of course. Coincidences. The devil has a twisted sense of humor.  
I bite my lower lip.

¨ I wanted to tell you. Really. ¨ I mutter apologetically, although that is a lie. If everything had gone according to plan, he would have never known about this. All this.

¨ Aha. ¨ he makes as if he'd confirm his thoughts. ¨ Approximately at your and Gabe's wedding? While you wear a hat hiding your bald head? ¨ He exhales slowly. ¨ I'm not stupid, you know? ¨

¨ Stop this shit, Lu - ¨

¨ No, YOU will stop this shit now, Sam. ¨ he interrupts me harshly. His eyes sparkle frosty. "I'm damn tired of your silence and your secrecy."

I nod vaguely. Yes, I can understand that. I can understand it even very well.  
I would react the same when Dean had concealed something from me (again). But this is not about my brother, not even about Gabriel now. This is about Lucifer and me. And the transience of my existence. The expiry of my human body.

¨ I had to complete the first irradiation yesterday. ¨ I say, having no real context to connect on. ¨ That's why I'm so ... well ... exhausted. ¨

Lucifer does not even nod.

¨ And why did you want to keep the cancer secret from me? ¨ he asks dryly. (Slowly but surely I feel like I'm in an interrogation.)

¨ I didn't want you to heal me. ¨ Absently I luge to my immaculate palms. ¨ How you did when the pieces of porcelain scratched my skin. ¨

¨ And why not? ¨

I take a deep breath. And one more. And one more.

¨ Because I can not leave me on your angel powers and wants. ¨ I tell him gently, ¨ In general, it is not good for me to use any spells and concoctions to prolong my life artificially. If I cannot make surviving on my own, I should not continue the law of this existence. In this regard, Darwin has experienced quite a few plausible approaches. ¨

¨ This is nonsense. ¨

¨ It's not . People are perishable goods, Lucifer. And they spoil quickly. They are not made for centuries, possibly for a single but not more. ¨

¨ I'd rather live a few more years with you than an eternity without you. ¨

¨ That's exactly what concerns me the most. ¨ I say and sigh deeply.

¨ I don't want my death to burden, don't you understand? I don't want you to suffer because of our separation. You have already suffered enough. And in heaven we can't see each other again, since He has locked it up for you. ¨

Lucifer then blurts out an indignant snort. He does not seem thrilled. Well, it does not wonder me.

¨ Is that your defense for this scrap a la *_I cheat on you with another guy and behave as the most obnoxious bastard on earth_*? Did you really think it would hurt me less to lose you in this way, rather than one that goes hand in hand with your natural death? ¨

¨ I often witnessed how the people I loved died, Lucifer. ¨ I say hoarsely. ¨ It is a gnawing, burning pain and the wound created from it can never heal. Never completely. If I had built a protective wall around my heart, I would have made sure not to let anyone come so close to me, it would not have had so thrown off course as it has been many times the case. ¨

In fact, the people we love the most, also can give us the bitterest anguish at the same time.  
This knowledge is an old hat by today's standards, but who has learned it the hard way, what fraction the loss of a loved one can cause, knows what I'm talking about. They know it too well.  
I don't envy anyone for this knowledge.

¨ You talk like an old, bitter man, Sam. ¨ throws Lucifer before me, ¨ But you're still young. And if you beat cancer on your own, then - ¨

¨ Yes, THEN. ¨ I interrupt loudly and I put all the rest of force in my voice that I have kept hidden in some forgotten bit of my body before my powerlessness started. ¨ Then I might live another ten years. And ten more. Maybe 25, if I'm lucky - so long till a monster catches me on the hunt or a harpy cuts my neck or the doctor finds new metastases or I have a car accident after shopping. OR I'm getting really old and my brain will ne decomposed by Alzheimer's - wonderful prospects.¨

I take a deep breath, trying to mentally calm my accelerated heartbeat. A drop of sweat hangs in my left eyebrow. Lucifer's worried look tells me that my face has probably started to faint to chalk white.  
No matter, therefore I can not take care of me now. What must be, has to be done.

¨ There are endless ways for us humans to die, but only one to be born. But angels never end - for you are timeless creatures. Beings who possess a limit, can only bring you grief. You have to understand me! ¨

¨ You cannot just decide over my head, what is best for me, Sam. I'm a fucking archangel, not a silly child! ¨

¨ You _are_ a child. ¨ I call at him and my excitement would have almost indulged me to sit up.  
I fail miserably, falling back with a groan. Every slight movement promotes the dizziness and nausea.  
Damn, I **hate** chemo-therapy.

¨ I don't care how many thousands of years you have endured, for me you remain as a child who has been hurt and suffered scarrings of the worst kind and I want to protect this child from further scarring at all costs. ¨ I stroke my hair from my forehead. It is immersed in acidic sweat. ¨ The cancer is only one of these signs, to open one's eyes to the future, you know? And I've noticed that no matter how much I may love you there's no future for us to give. No future that your kind is appropriate to. So, the present is a lie and I will not live this lie anymore, neither should you. I love you too much for this, so there is no other choice left for me.¨

After the last letter has escaped my lips I grab after sufficient oxygen for the first time so that my lung does not collapse.  
I'm drenched in sweat.  
And Lucifer?  
Lucifer stands there like a statue, his face opaque, the term mystery in his eyes. This image is more, there are countless minutes. Then he turns around, turns his back on me silently and leaves the room. I do not know why this reaction fears me so much but it does, it gives me even _terrible_ fear.

¨ Lucifer? Hey, Lucifer, where are you going? ¨ I call after him as loud as I can.

No reply. In my mind I bounce my clenched fists into the mattress. Fuck. Fuck!  
Sitting up was not a very good idea at the first attempt and it is not now, but I'll be screwed if I cannot support me at least on my elbows. A groan of my hand, a squeak from the side of the bed and my upper body lifts millimeter by millimeter into higher realms. Although my arms tremble and my bones feel like they are wrapped in cremated ox fat and bacon but hey, is a crumb not like a feast for the hungry? Same idea here.

But the sporadic feeling of triumph of my paltry success is washed away abruptly as an inhuman ripping sound comes from one of the more remote areas. As if one pushes apart two halves of a zipper with unbearable violence.  
As if you cut through flesh. Human flesh. It shakes me from the inside.

¨ Lucifer, oh my - ¨ I lack the words in horror.

You know what's funny about the human mind? Its premonitions.  
Sometimes you wake up on a normal monday morning, see the sun piping hot shines with about 20 degrees into the room and then, out of nowhere, you think _Grandpa is dead._ And you do not even need a clairvoyant talent or other spiritual skills. Premonitions like this are rooted in the deepest core of our being and report to occasionally speak up when they involve health or the constitution of one of those who mean something to us. The ones we love. Always _only_ the ones we love.

The human mind is often predisposed to be very inhuman.

At this moment, Lucifer staggers back into the room and confirmes my premonition with a single glance. His figure is painted like watercolor but maybe that just occurs due to the limited vison my lachrymose veil offers.

"No." ... Maybe I speak that word, maybe I sob it. It makes no sense anyway. The blood forms a crescent-shaped swath on Lucifer's chest and shines in its red-faced freshness. His hands are full of this red, brushing his cheeks with copper splashes.  
He smiles at me. Warm. I think that smile is the worst of all.

¨ You said you love me. ¨ he says, and his voice sounds amazingly in focus, happy, if there would not be this torn apart expression in his eyes that destroys the bright blue of his iris, leaving it in shadowy shards. ¨Less than ten minutes before you said for the first time that you frankly love me, do you even realize this? What that means to me? ¨

His questions meet deaf ears but unfortunately the heart has no ears that could close. I suppose a rattling breath after breath. Focusing the sparkling container in his left hand, capturing my whole shocked attention.

¨ No, Lucifer. No, you can't do that! ¨ I whimper and I would not have sounded otherwise, if I had had been nine years old. ¨ Your g-grace, for God's sake, put your grace back to where you've pulled it out ... . ¨

He has ripped apart his grace. His. Own. Grace. With his own hands. He is no longer an archangel. No heavenly creature.

He is no longer immortal. I can see it.  
Lucifer just looks at me. Swallowing.

¨ No. ¨

And the gentleness in his voice is not childish. It is almost grotesque.

¨ Lucifer, please - ¨ and now I let the tears freely run down my cheeks. Hot and guilty. Freed.

¨ No. ¨ He shakes his head. ¨ I had to decide. And I chose you. ¨ His gaze falls on the glowing vial in his hands. ¨ I have often heard that people give away their hearts, if they confess their love for someone. This here ¨ He raises his grace on a leather strap, he must have laced recently on the vial, allows it to swing like a pendulum in the air. "This is _my_heart. I love you, Sam, and I give you my heart. Do you want it? Do you want to **me**? Even though I'm just a… man? ¨

IHe leaves me free choice.  
I have cancer, tried to make him believe I would cheat on him with his brother, accused him of eternity - and still, he leaves me free choice.  
That's insane, isn't it? No, that's stupid. Incredibly stupid.  
Especially from someone who is older than the earth on which we walk.  
But at the same time ... a definitive proof of love. More importantly, a vote of confidence.

Like a petrified board I lie in bed and listen to the pulse throbbing through my veins. A pulse that will become weaker and colder over the years. Skin, which will wither. Hair that will turn gray. Life that will die.  
And love that lasts forever because it was deprived of eternity. God have mercy.  
But everything must come to an end. Even death.

Then I lick over my papery lips and give Lucifer the answer he wanted to hear out of my mouth right when we met for the first time.

¨_Yes_. ¨

-THE END-

* * *

Hello to all Readers :)

This is the end of my little AU-story, based on a little situation from the tumblr blog **askluciferthefallen** who inspired me to write this. Check out the blog , it's very nice^^

Thanks to everyone for reading. I hope that you liked it^^ If yes (or no, depending on your opinion) please let me know in your comments/critics

Greets,

Rose of Brisingr


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